The Soccer Players (by Mafisto)
[Fantasy casting: Casper Van Dien as Casper Weisen, David Beckham as Dave Berg, Wesley Cotton as Wes Collins, Michael Owen as Mike Howe]
Ten minutes later, two student jocks walked in. I recognized the well-groomed well-built dark blonde one: he was the one who had told the ghost story about the dwarf, the fucker. The other was a few years younger, and a few inches shorter, than him. “I must warn you,” I said as they were heading for a table, “the only kind of beer I have left is Samuel Adams in tap. Do you mind?” I hoped they would.
They frowned at each other. They were about to leave when Wes, who saw them as he came out of the bathroom, said: “Cheers! So, you two’ll be ready for the big one on Sunday, he? I know I bloody won’t.”
The blonde fucker turned to me and said, with a smile and a wink: “Samuel Adams will be fine.” He adjusted the expensive looking black jacket he wore over a white T-shirt and faded jeans. His hair was combed back with gel. It looked like a freshly plowed field. “So Wes,” he said, “I didn’t know you worked here… Isn’t it illegal to work off-campus the first year on an F-1 student visa?”
Wes just watched them, dumbfounded, as they sat down right at the middle table.
“Just a joke, Wes, I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” smile wink. Fuck, this guy was full of himself! Confident smile. Loads of fake charisma. The third jock wore black nylon pants and a white nylon sports jacket over his tight athletic built. His brown hair was cut even shorter than Wes’ was: it exposed a wide forehead.
“Chris, those two bloody jokers here are Casper and Mike,” Wes told me. “They’re in the Crimson team.”
“I already know Casper,” I said coldly. Wes threw me a puzzled look — he didn’t know about the incident.
“I’m the friendly ghost,” said Casper, smile wink. “How about two beers, Wes?” Wes nodded and left.
“Do you think we should even play on Sunday?” asked Casper to Mike. “This is the most disastrous season I’ve been in. What am I saying? You wouldn’t know, you and Wes are still rookies, you can’t compare.”
“Well, I do know we need more training. I think it’s just that we don’t share our methods enough. Like you and Dave, you have a lot of experience. You know a lot of techniques that you could share with us the rookies. I learn a lot just by watching you two. Like last Saturday, remember Dave, when he ran towards Tymmons and there was no way he’d get pass him…” He grabbed a bread roll from the basket on their table, stood up and threw it to the floor. He pushed it around with his feet as he continued, with passion and admiration: “… Dave has such amazing ball control, you know, so when he got close to Tymmons with the ball in front of him, he got close enough to make Tymmons think he’d have no trouble to kick the ball away. Then, he dipped his shoulder to the left, faked with the ball also to the left with the right foot, then he was gone to the right. That’s the type of technique that will make us win on Sunday, if he teaches it to us.”
“That’s great,” said Casper as Wes was coming back with the beers, “but I’m still worried. If we lose this one, we’re finished. I don’t think the coach knows what he’s doing. Take today’s practice: training for penalty kicks, what was that all about? By the way, Wes, I don’t know how you can afford to miss practice like that.”
Wes glared at me — « …why did we have to clean this bloody cellar today we wouldn’t have found the beer he always needs to I think he enjoys imposing his the way he looked at me when I bent over to grab the… » — then he said: “I had to work today. We can’t be all bloody rich like Dave. Some of us must earn a living.”
“Even it it’s illegally as I can see… You should drop off the team then, if you can’t afford to be a part of it.”
Wes contained his rage. Mike sat down and said: “I you need someone to practice with, Wes, I’m available.”
“Thanks, mate,” Wes said. “I just might take you up on that. I don’t know when, it all depends on my boss.”
The three of them turned their attention towards me. I’d started to sense Casper and Mike’s thoughts, faint feelings really, and in this single moment my mind was flooded with their intense shared desire to win. At this point, the door opened and another student walked in, blonder and thinner then Casper, with more of a swimmer’s built. “So this is where you guys hang out,” he said, without a smile. I couldn’t believe it: it was Dave Berg, from my old high school! I hadn’t seen him in two years. He didn’t even recognize me.
“Aye Dave,” said Mike. “Come join us. We were talking about the technique you used with Tymmons.”
“I would have thought you’d be learning it, not talking about it,” Dave answered. He looked around with disapproval. “What kind of a dump is this? And what’s Wes doing behind the bar?”
“He works here,” Mike said. “Wes, bring a beer to Dave please.”
“Sure thing,” said Wes. « …don’t like this dave thinks he’s better than everyone because he’s got money have a second beer for meself chris isn’t looking should stop at two though ’cause he’ll notice… »
As the three students drank for the next half hour, they talked about sex (“So, Mike, I heard you couldn’t get it up with Tania last week?”), sports (“Those Dartmouth guys will cream us on Sunday, that’s for sure!”) and action flicks (“Have you heard about ‘The Whole Nine Yards’, the new Bruce Willis movie?”).
During that time, my head was buzzing more and more. Their voices were making echoes in my brain, like Wes’ voice had. I was hearing Casper try to convince Dave to invest in the startup company he’d launch after graduation, but there he was, listening to Dave quietly with his mouth shut; I was hearing Mike constantly repeat: « …I’m gonna perform tomorrow perform tomorrow… » as if he was trying to drown his worries about the game in positive thoughts, but he wasn’t moving his lips; I heard Dave silently say: « …hate this beer is it so hard to make beer that tastes right should’ve gone elsewhere… » Once again I felt like a voyeur, or an écouteur to be precise, violating their minds, listening to their most intimate thoughts. I loved it. Fuck, I would have loved it even more if they’d been thinking about something like sex. Like their private sex fantasies, that would’ve been entertaining. I burped mentally as if my mind was overstuffed.
I heard Dave’s thoughts start to wander towards a gorgeous stewardess he had dated a few weeks back. They were on a plane, and she was stripping out of her uniform for him. A faint smile appeared on his face just then. It was way cool to listen to that, to see that in my mind, while he thought no one except her and himself knew about this. The other three were also thinking about sex now: Wes fantasized about Mike’s girlfriend, Tania, giving him a massage; Mike about his Biology teacher, exposing her breasts in class; and Casper, about forcing himself upon that bitch Roxanna who had rejected him because she thought he was too superficial. He was tearing her clothes off while she screamed and sobbed, helpless before his strength.
They had stopped talking. They were staring at each other silently, waiting for one of the others to say something, all absorbed in their sexual fantasies. As I had wished they’d be. Was I the one who had made it happen? There was this weird mental burp thing I’d felt when I wished they’d think about sex. It was as if a… a bubble… had formed around my thought. Then I had felt it whoosh towards them, invisibly.
Mike suddenly got up. “Gotta go,” he said, “I’ve got a Sociology class at four. We don’t seem to have anything to talk about anyway — we haven’t said a word in ten minutes. What were you all thinking about?”
His words snapped Casper and Dave right out of their thoughts. “Nothing really,” said Casper. “The game.”
“Do you three want to go to Alfonso’s for dinner? My treat?” asked Dave, also getting up. He took another sip of his beer. “Then we should all practice tonight, don’t you think? How about at my place? We’ll be quiet. We’ll also need to talk about our plan for Sunday’s game, go over a few strategies I thought about.”
“We don’t need another coach. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow,” said Casper, ignoring Dave’s glare.
“Well, I for one will meet you at Alfonso’s,” said Mike to Dave. “How about you Wes? Working tonight?”
Wes didn’t answer. He was leaning over the bar, oblivious to them. They stared at him, confused. “What the fuck’s the matter with him?” asked Mike as Dave pushed out him and Casper.
“Let’s go,” said Dave. “He’ll snap out of it. He’s probably out of the game anyway. It’ll just be the two of us.” After they left, my mind was on fire from the stress of hearing so many thoughts at once. Wes was still lost in his fantasies: he was thinking of Tania secretly visiting him at his dorm, and kissing him lovingly. As I was clearing the students’ table, I wondered: why was he more into it than they had been? Was it because they only had a beer each, while Wes had two? It could be: the paper did say the effects were cumulative. I had long suspected about his drinking at work, but he’d never gotten drunk enough for me to be sure.
I decided to check if I could really influence someone ‘tenderized’. I discreetly locked the door and flipped the sign to ‘we’re closed’. Then I thought about Wes’ fantasies growing wilder, and his getting really aroused by those fantasies, forgetting where he was and letting himself go. A bubble formed around my thought; I mentally pushed it out of my head towards his. It’s weird to talk about it physically like that but that’s the best way I can describe it. The bubble was softly absorbed in his brain. He thought about Tania showing him her breasts and him sucking on them slowly; he closed his eyes. Then he imagined she ripped her clothes off and looked at him hungrily; he smiled dumbly. Then he imagined she came close to him and pressed her naked breasts against his chest; he squirmed in place. Then he got a hard-on, both in his fantasy and for real, and imagined she grabbed it in his jeans and said: “I wish Mike could get hard like that…”; he grabbed his crotch boldly and whispered: “That’s a bloody man’s hard-on…”
I was getting a bloody man’s hard-on myself. I moved closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body. He was rubbing his crotch against the counter, waving his ass slowly left and right. Fuck, was it erotic! I squeezed one of his ass cheeks and he smiled and whispered: “Can’t resist, he?” I lifted his wool sweater and T-shirt up a bit and gazed at his belly button and happy trail. Then, his voice grew fainter in my mind: fuck! the dilator’s effects were almost over. I hurried to project a bubbled thought to make him cum. His intense orgasm in my mind triggered my own; we both creamed our pants. I sent him another quick bubbled thought, but I lost contact right after, so I had no idea if he absorbed it. I went to the window before he opened his eyes; I pretended looking out and not having noticed his behavior.
“They’re gone?” I heard him ask behind me. “This was so bloody weird. I think I’ve lost it for a while. Maybe it’s the stress about tomorrow. I need to relax, mate, I need to relax. Shite! I also need to go to the bathroom.”
I was still blown away by what had just happened and what it meant. Not only was I able to read people’s thoughts with that dilator stuff, but also I was able to alter them, to influence them. What could I get out of it? Money? Sex? Love? What about Wes? I unlocked the door and flipped the door sign to reopen the pub.
“Not many customers, he?” Wes said, coming out after ten minutes. “I hope there’ll be more tonight.”
“Wes,” I said. “I know what you’re going through with this soccer game. I think I can help you.”
He frowned with suspicion. “What do you mean, help me? Like finally give me a bloody day off?”
“No. I can help you make sense of your thoughts, make sense of your life. I understand you well enough.”
“Sorry,” he said, coldly, “but I don’t need you to make sense of me thoughts: they make bloody sense to me. Why do you care anyway? I’ve seen how you looked at me butt while we were cleaning up downstairs…”
“You don’t understand,” I said, my voice wavering. “I don’t want your body, I want to help you… I know mental techniques that will make you a better athlete. It’s all about attitude.”
“I’ll become a better athlete me own way, not with your ‘mental techniques’. You want to change me. I know that since I started working here. Like when you tried to make me like jazz, or that time when you tried to break me and me girlfriend up. I don’t know what exactly you want me to become, but it won’t happen.”
I was furious! How could he reject my help? I darted towards the john, my face red. Wes avoided looking at me in the eyes. I locked myself in the bathroom. Then I saw something which changed my mood instantly: his wet white cotton jockeys were on the toilet seat, full of his fresh cum, as I had instructed him to do with them in my last bubbled thought. I sat on the throne, breathed in their strong scent, strong like he was, and I started to jerk off. A plan was taking form in my mind. His friends were practicing tonight. I didn’t know where, but I knew they’d have dinner at Alfonso’s. They’d help me get to him. Content with that knowledge, I tasted his cum and it tasted like heaven. It didn’t take me long to cum again.